The next morning, he watched as she walked around the room, serving her customers. He enjoyed studying her efficient movements and hearing her laugh. So busy was he concentrating on her that his usually sharp instincts failed him. He jerked back when Don Alejandro's face suddenly blocked her from view. The older man's smile was forced as he sat down in front of him.
His smile completely disappeared as he leaned across the table. "You might be soon leaving, but she has to live here after you are gone."
Diego blushed like a schoolboy caught with his pants around his ankles. Not wanting to look his father in the eyes, he looked down at his clean plate and began dragging his fork across it. "I'm sorry. I should have realized."
"Yes," Don Alejandro agreed, "you should have. The way she's looking at you is bad enough, but you are more experienced in the world and should show more . . . restraint."
Diego continued to look down at his plate, chastised. "The gossips already talk about her too much."
He sensed, rather than saw, Don Alejandro nodding. "Between Señor Moralez's murder and Zorro's constant hounding, yes they do." Diego did not say anything. After a few minutes, Don Alejandro sighed. "I don't know what to make of you, Señor Resendo."
His eyes finally left his plate. "I don't know what to make of you, either, Don Alejandro." Father and son stared hard at one another. Diego broke eye contact and reached for his glass. "You'll be happy to know that you can have your hacienda back."
It was Don Alejandro's turn to be contrite. "I'm sorry. I heard about what happened last night, and I know the Lieutenant was a faithful friend." Diego swallowed past the lump in his throat. He had expected his father to show some joy about getting back his rancho, but the old man had again surprised him. Instead of rejoicing, he expressed sympathy to a man who had stolen his home.
"I'll be getting my things out soon."
Don Alejandro nodded. "There's no rush. I know the funeral is in a few hours, and I'm sure you would like to rest beforehand. My son won't be awake until afterwards anyway."
He looked up at the steps, towards the room where his brother was sleeping, where Diego had slept upon his arrival. "I'm surprised he sleeps so late."
The caballero could not meet the soldier's eyes this time. "He stays out late--talking to friends."
Diego had heard of his brother's reputation and understood what his father was saying. Gilberto liked to go to late night parties and games. "You and your son don't seem to be a lot a like."
"No," Don Alejandro sighed, "we aren't, but I love him anyway."
"Why?"
His father looked at him in surprise. "I guess you don't understand because you don't have children of your own. The bond between a father and son is remarkable. Although we have many differences, I see many similarities as well." Don Alejandro's gaze suddenly became piercing. "Tell me about your father. Don't you love him?"
Diego bit his tongue to keep from gasping in pain. I want to love him, and I think I could very easily. I find myself admiring you, Father. Don't you see the similarities in us? Are there any? "I never knew my father . . . until recently," he admitted.
"That's unfortunate," the caballero said. His conscious, with Julian's voice, urged him to ask the whys of his life, but years of pain and anger kept the words hidden away until it was too late. Don Alejandro stood, waved goodbye to Victoria, and then took his leave of Diego.
It was less than a half-hour later when Felipe arrived with one of his dress uniforms. Diego sat stunned, unsure what to say or do when the boy offered it to him. He was unsure if his father or the boy was responsible, but he was touched by the gesture more than he wanted to be. There had only been three people in his life that had even tried to take care of him, and one of them was now dead. Taking the uniform from Felipe's grasp, he reached out with his free hand and gripped the boy's shoulder. Squeezing it, he said, "Thank you." A brief nod later, the young de la Vega servant was gone.
Victoria walked over to him. "He's a good boy."
Diego nodded, "Yes, he is." He felt his heart beating strong in his chest, and his mouth was dry. He had expected his reactions to her to stop after last night, but instead they were stronger. As with his father, words he wanted to speak would not pass his lips. So, instead of asking her to go with him to Julian's funeral, he turned away and walked upstairs to change.
***
The sun was directly overhead as he walked to the small cemetery located not far from the mission. It was a lovely area, and he thought Julian would have found it peaceful. The ironies in life were sometimes funny and sometimes tragic, and Diego thought that Julian might have laughed at the paradox of his death. Julian Hidalgo, the man who loved everything about the cities, was being buried in a small pueblo's graveyard. It gave Diego peace, though, to know how much Julian had fallen in love with this area and these people.
"This is the first place that I have been able to imagine myself growing old, and having my children and grandchildren surrounding me on my deathbed," Julian had told him. Those children and grandchildren had not surrounded him, but he had lived here to the end of his life. I'm sorry, Julian, Diego thought as he slowed to enter the tiny white fence that surrounded the area. I failed you. You died for my mistake, but I will make sure Zorro dies for his.
Diego's heart lightened when he noticed that the men surrounded the grave. He expected to the only mourner present, forgetting that the men loved Julian, too. He stopped in his tracks when he noticed the citizens standing in front of the men. His father and Felipe stood there silently beside Victoria.
Already taut as a guitar's strings, he was unable to hide his surprise. He saw a look of understanding from each of the three friends, and he felt his own eyes water. They were here for him, these strangers who barely knew him. Smiling with trembling lips, he walked to stand next to Victoria. Diego drew in a deep breath and drew himself up into a stance of attention. Stiffly, he nodded to Padre Benitez, and the service began.
He did not hear any of the words: His thoughts were on Julian, remembering the wild antics at University and the serious moments of unity on the battlefield. He stifled a laugh when he thought about the look of amazement on Julian's face after Diego knocked him flat to the ground in one punch. Julian had deserved it, and he knew it, but he had never met anyone who could beat him before that day. "One of the most important lessons of my life, amigo," he had admitted once, and then only after several shots of tequila. Julian's words slurred together as he spoke. "After that, I always knew that someone out there might be better. Made me more cautious. By hitting me that day, Diego, you saved my life."
And now, he thought, I've killed you by my blind arrogance! I'm so sorry, Julian.
"May the Lord God enfold him in his infinite mercy. Amen," the Padre's voice interrupted his self-condemnation. He realized that the service was over.
"Lancers, prepare to fire," he heard Sergeant Mendoza order. Julian had been right about him being a good man. "Fire!" Shots echoed over the once-quiet cemetery. Diego jumped, remembrances of battles still too fresh in his mind.
He turned to look at the citizens of Los Angeles who had attended the service. He was startled to notice that others besides his father, Victoria, and Felipe had attended. Señor Pedalta was even among the mourners. Diego did not know why he was surprised--Julian always made friends wherever he went, and Los Angeles had been no exception.
Unable to meet his father's eyes, he stiffly bowed before him. "Thank you for attending, Don Alejandro. I know that Julian would have been honored."
"It's the least I could do," he murmured. Diego nodded and began to walk away. "Señor, you have not told us how you plan to collect the remainder of the tax money."
Diego stopped in his tracks. He closed his eyes, wishing he could be anywhere but here. He knew his plan, but he did not know these people well enough to share it. For all he knew, one or all of them might know who Zorro was, and he could not risk having the outlaw learn of his strategy. Diego wanted revenge, and he would get it.
Putting on the mask that had helped him over the years, Diego turned to look at the people standing next to Julian's grave. He knew what they were seeing: a face so stiff that it looked like it could have been carved out of stone and eyes that were freezing them in the warm air. "Why, I plan to sell the church's property, of course."
Victoria acted as if he had slapped her. He wanted to reach out, to reassure her, that he would find the money somewhere else-- he would use the reward money from Zorro's capture to pay the tax himself, but he did not. Instead, he turned and walked away from the people who had somehow managed to find a place in his heart.